Frozen Winds Bring Hope
by elusivemuse
Summary: DRABBLE!FIC Stannis won the Blackwater, defeated armies and enemies. Now, in the desolation of Civil War, he must bring the Seven Kingdoms back in line to face the oncoming threat Beyond the Wall. Winter blows harshly, but the wings bring tidings of greatness. Starks hold the key and as always, Winter is Coming! Stannis/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own or make any money from the Game of Thrones Series.**

**A/N: This is an AU of the series, featuring mainly with Stannis winning the Blackwater and losing his wife long before the events of Game of Thrones. It also features an OC from the Stark Family, an eldest Daughter, Gwyneth, who had also become a captive with Sansa. I will update when I can and this will be a linear drabble series.**

**However, please read and enjoy.**

**Drabble One**

Long Live King Stannis

The battle raged on, the screaming of men and clash of steel echoing throughout the Red Keep was just as apparent indoors as out. Servants scuttled with armfuls of household items were either cut down as the men marched, or taken to a secure location. Stannis didn't win a siege or battle by being foolish and allowing people free to cut him down from behind.

Pools of blood stained the stone floor and bodies of looters were pushed to the side. The lack of soldiers was a little disconcerting, however the rumour of his impending victory, despite the wildfire, roared faster than the supernatural green flames—perhaps encouraging desertion or a switch of sides?

Davos, ever faithful and loyal, kept close after swimming to shore and meeting up with him. Tears still stained his cheeks from watching his oldest boy perish so soon in the battle. Deep down, Stannis felt a pang of sympathy and guilt, similar to what he felt when his late wife passed in childbirth, losing the babe with her life.

The doors to the Throne Room were conspicuously empty of guards. He gestured for them to open the heavy entryway with caution, all men poised for an impulsive last stand. As each door creaked open with a pounding echo, battle plans and actions skimmed his mind as he waited for a sign of any enemy.

Instead, the sight that greeted him was nothing like what he expected at all.

Before he could really take in what he saw, a little boy—the boy Tommen—tried to dart past his men, only to be caught. Waving off his men, he began walking into the hall, his eyes unable to break free from what was happening in front of the Iron Throne.

Stories from the North had been floating about for years—centuries even, yet this was the first time he put any stock into the legends. Before him, showing every part of the vengeful spirit stood Lady Gwyneth Stark looking every inch the fierce Northern woman. The blue, crushed velvet dress was almost as dark as the shadows around them. Her long dark hair was astray from the elaborate braiding her Handmaiden had placed it in during the daylight hours and a dark bruise bloomed on the white skinned cheek.

What had him frozen was the fallen form of the Whore Queen Cersei, being held in place by a wickedly sharp dirk held by the Northern Lady.

Winter blue eyes darted to his then Lady Gwyneth took two steps away from the fallen woman. With a strong and steady voice, she called out to him. "Greetings, Your Grace, welcome to Kings' Landing. I offer Cersei, the traitor Queen as a welcoming gift to you."

There was a form of vicious satisfaction laced in her words. What had this girl—this woman—seen here?

A movement in the shadows caught the corner of his eye. A soft death rattle could barely be heard as his eyes adjusted to the fallen form of Ser Illyn Payne. Blood poured from the wound on his neck, drowning him slowly. Deep in the shadows a woman shifted, exiting through the side doors, her gown soaked in red.

The Keep was a house of the dead and dying, bathed in an eerie green glow from the wildfire burning everything it touched in the Bay. Stannis could only imagine the horrors the walls had witnessed since his brother's death.

He turned back to the women before him, his guard's armour creaking loudly as they shifted uncomfortably. What was going to happen in the next few moments? All of his instincts were screaming at him to go cautiously. After all, it was only one of the Stark daughters in the hall, where were the other two?

"Lady Gwyneth Stark," he greeted, walking forward. His guard moved with him, half a step behind. "Are you well?"

Not the most respectful, nor gentle manner to ask, but then again, he wasn't a courtier but a soldier.

An almost crazed laugh bubbled from her lips as her eyes widened. "Am I well?" she repeated, his grip tightening on the blade, "As well as I can be, I suppose, Your Grace. I haven't been married off or raped yet."

He frowned at her words. "My Lady?" he queried, hoping to avoid any sort of wordplay.

"Do you know what Lannisters do to those left behind?" she asked softly, "They beat young girls for the actions of others. My sister and I were stripped before court, humiliated and beaten by the supposed Kingsguard for the amusement of those too cruel and cowardly. Her child threated my sister with a crossbow and made us say such horrible things about my family—"she broke off with a sob, before continuing on, her voice becoming a whisper. "They tortured us more when my brother won his battles. She was going to have us killed if you broke the shore."

Her face, while still beautiful in a cold, winter's way, turned into a sneer as she looked back to the fallen Queen. Cersei had been trying to compose herself through the speech, trying to become more dignified as the realisation sunk in that she was going to die, that it was all over.

"Where is my SON!" she cried out, breaking the two out from their stare. "Where is my Joffrey?!"

Stannis looked at her with disgust. "He has been taken prisoner, woman, waiting to be executed publicly as soon as I can arrange it."

A cry ripped from her throat in anguish. Hate filled her green eyes. "You'll pay for this," she hissed. "My father won't allow this to happen, Jamie will come for me, just you wait!"

"Let them come," came the impassive words, "I will break them as I broke through your defences. Your incest and the product of your incest has caused a rot in the Seven Kingdoms that only your death can heal. Anyone who objects my claim will be dealt with swiftly. Your father will be one of them. Take her to the blackest pit you can find until I'm ready to deal with her."

A guard came forward, dragging the fallen queen away from the room. Stannis moved closer to Lady Gwyneth, his hand reaching out to take the blade from her shaking fingers. She was like a frightened doe now, her eyes wild and her lips trembling. "Its over now," he said, his tone a little sharp to what he hoped for. "

"The North Remembers, Your Grace," she murmured, her eyes still tracking Cersei.

"She will pay for everything she had a hand in," he replied. "I will allow you to attend the sentencing and execution should you wish it."

Gwyneth looked at him then, looked at him properly. "I will trust you to see this through. My father once told me you were a man of your word and I've seen enough executions to last a lifetime."

"Your time as a hostage is over—you are an honoured guest here until I can treat with your brother for a satisfactory ending for the both of us. Speed will be a necessity with this." He offered her his arm to escort her away from the Iron Throne.

"Winter is Coming," she stated, turning her back to the suffering and torture and towards a new future.


	2. Chapter 2

Another chapter, another moment in the AU Seven Kingdoms; please enjoy and leave a review.

This was a little harder to write-I believe I wrote this four times today, each a different scene. This one came a surprise, but a happy one. I'm pleased with its direction.

A Big THANK YOU to those who have. I really appreciate the time you took to do so.

A King's Responsibility

The Hand's Tower was a cold standing building with large windows and billowing drafts. Lord Davos—made Lord shortly after the battle to take the position of Hand—found the lodgings similar to Dragonstone, just simply brighter and well lit. Two of the nicer servants tried to make it warmer with a roaring fire and hangings over the windows with heavy golden cloth—obviously a left over from Robert's reign. From what he saw of the décor when they won the city, Cersei had turned it into homage to Lannister colours.

He was grateful when the Red Woman, Melisandre glided in with the King and moved straight to the fireplace; her presence a seemingly coax for the fire to immediately flame hotter. While he didn't like her all that much, it was a handy talent to have.

Servants followed them in carrying handmade carts filled with ledgers and books. Davos immediately stood, moving to one side for the King to take his place. "Your Grace?" He queried, hoping that he wasn't relied on to go through all the information being supplied to his quarters.

"I will assign a man to read these to you," Stannis murmured as he stiffly lowered himself into the chair before succumbing to the urge of leaning onto his elbows and burying his face into his hands. "I didn't think it was this bad! Robert was a fool who whored too much and drank too much, but Baelish was meant to keep the treasury!"

A quick look was thrown to the Red Woman, her carefully blank expression showing nothing of what played in her mind. Davos turned back to his King, "Your Grace?" he questioned once more.

"We are over six million dragons in debt!" Stannis growled, standing up to pace behind the chair. "Not only are the Seven Kingdoms ill-equipped to deal with Winter being on its way, but the treasury is empty—there is nothing to use!"

"The Lord of Light will see us through, My King," Melisandre purred from her position near the fire.

"Bugger your Lord of Light," Davos returned, "You have taken the city—what about the riches there?"

"Looted by most, the rest is slowly trickling in."

"These people have been shown your power, My King, perhaps it's time for you to show your might."

Stannis looked over to the woman, a frown on his face. "Speak plainly."

"There are many prisoners you have taken here—most are from affluent families. Perhaps execution may not be the only path of punishment here—perhaps surrender of their assets to the crown might be a wiser course of action."

Davos leapt to the idea, seeing the sense behind it. "It is a very rare thing for the Red Woman and I to agree, Your Grace, and we have several members of the most powerful family in our dungeons." His next words were going to be dangerous, going to threaten the infamous temper his King was well known for, but he hoped that sense would settle in before anything else.

"I sincerely hope you're not saying what I think you are," Stannis warned, stopping to glare at Davos.

"While I think Cersei and her boy should be executed, Tyrion Lannister has bowed the knee. He could be made into an asset for the Crown and the Westerlands are known for their riches. Perhaps the majority of it could be surrendered to the Crown in order for him to be a controlled Lord of Casterly Rock?"

It was silent for a while, only the crackle of the flame and the heavy pacing steps of the king could be heard. The words, while not what Stannis wanted to here, was a way to cover a majority of the debt the Kingdoms had developed as well as a way of keeping the Westerlands in control.

"I do not like this idea—it sounds too much like buying his freedom," he spoke through clenched teeth. "We need the gold," he sighed, "Nevertheless, the Imp stays close. Give him a position on the Small Council. I want to keep an eye on him at all times. Make sure he knows he's more of a hostage with this claim—and that his father's days are running low."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Davos bowed. "There is something else I needed to speak to you about."

"Speak."

"Lord Varys came to me with very interesting news—he wishes to continue to serve the realm in return for this." Davos began, unsure on where to start.

"That will depend on the news, Davos." Stannis was clearly losing his patience. The Red Woman moved from the fire and towards the drapes, pushing one aside to view the city from the window.

"Lord Petyr Baelish was instrumental in Lord Stark's death," He announced, the shock registering on his King's face. "He turned on him for a Lordship claim on Harrenhall. It was then revealed that he tried to befriend his children—to what end, I am unsure, but neither girl knows that it was he who handed the Lannisters Eddard Stark to execute."

Again, it was silent in the room.

"Are you telling me, that when Lord Stark came to the court to reveal Cersei's treason, to place me on the Throne, it was Baelish who ensured his death?" Stannis hissed quietly.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Send out ravens calling for his immediate arrest," The King announced, "His execution will be immediate."

"In line with our previous subject, perhaps an order seizing his brothels and warehouses for the treasury?" Davos asked.

"See it done. Lord Stark was an honourable man—I would see his legacy protected in turn."

* * *

><p>With a goblet in hand, Stannis stared at the fire; hoping answers to every problem would come to him. The more reports that came in front of him, the more bad news was being piled. How could things get so bad? It was as though the Lannisters spent more than what Robert managed to do in nineteen years.<p>

Winter was so close to breaking over the Kingdoms and yet instead of gathering up as much of the harvest they could, war still ravaged what was still left over. So many people would die when the snows settled in. He had only experienced a few Winters but the chill in the bones, the howling winds calling for death was ever close on his mind. There was a strange magic in the blizzards, something only the Starks and Wildlings celebrated and welcomed.

The occult was something he accepted more and more every day. His Kingdom was won with it. He didn't have the man power, nor the money to have been able to achieve it on his own. That thought alone chaffed at his pride, but as usual, he did what was necessary. Gaining what he wanted was beyond words, but the keeping of it was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. As per norm, he was left with the aftermath and consequences of others actions.

Would there ever be a time where he could simply enjoy having his right rather than having to fight tooth and nail for any little titbit others deemed him worthy of?

"The Lord of Light takes in your troubles and searched for ways to ease them." The Priestess seemed to melt away from the shadows, the strange red jewel at her throat gleaming clearer than anything else.

"I've got my throne, keeping it is the hard challenge," he returned, draining his goblet.

Her long pale fingers reached out and pulled it out of his grasp. Gliding over to the decanter, she poured more and herself one. His eyes couldn't help but drift over to her, taking in her cold, perfect beauty.

Melisandre had managed to seduce him once, promising him a son, but in return gifting him with a magic so dark he wasn't sure he ever wanted to touch her again. A son, an heir, was what he needed, but not a shadow. Kingdoms were built with Queens and sons and he needed a son whose parentage was beyond reproach.

"A queen is a temporary fix," she responded, handing him his goblet before drinking his own. It always seemed to him that she could read his thoughts. "The right Queen will be hard to find. You are Azor Ahai, reborn. This Queen must be of perfect lineage."

"I had a wife, I have a daughter," He stated.

"Yes, but you didn't have a Queen and you need a son to hold the throne."

Stannis didn't say anything in return; instead he stared deeper into the fire, his fingers twirling the goblet softly. It wasn't as if she wasn't making any sense, but in order for him to find a Queen he would have to search for the right wife. He was a hard man; it seemed more like a punishment for the softness of a woman to be subjected to him.

"I spoke with the Stark girls today," Melisandre spoke, changing the topic.

"I haven't decided how to tell them about the betrayal," Stannis cut in, no longer in the mood to deal with talking.

"Be that as it may, the Eldest, Gwyneth, is a cold woman."

"She is from the North."

"Yes, but there is a cold magic to her, a destiny that the fires shy from."

Frustrated, he stood and walked out of the room. There was no more patience in him for riddles and the occult. As far as he was concerned, the Stark women were model women, staying clear when necessary and providing aid to the people through other means. The night was dark and he sought his bed before another morning called early.


End file.
